Chapter Text
2005, Bucky
Bucky hates sweat. Sweat and sand. There’s nothing more he could possibly hate than sweat and sand right now, he can’t even hate that aunt he has that pinches his cheeks like he’s still a chubby twelve year old because all the hate in the world is directed on sweat and sand.
He has sweat running down his face and neck, he can feel his uniform sticking to his back from where sweat drenched through the fabric, he can even feel sweat uncomfortably running down his thighs right now, but he really doesn’t want to think about that. Then there’s the sand. Sand that stuck in his ears and between his toes, sand that makes him itchy where it mixes with his sweat, sand that he thinks will never completely wash out of his hair.
He hates it, and he wants to pout. But there’s fucking Steve, sitting next to him keeping watch on the entrance of their base laughing at some lame joke like he dork he is. He wants to pout and hate the sweat and sand but he can’t because Steve’s making him laugh.
Bucky nudges Steve in the ribs with the butt of his rifle and snorts, “Stop, they’re gonna separate us again and it’s gonna’ be all your fault.”
“That was only once, Buck,” Steve says, that stupid smile still plastered on his face, “And that was your fault ‘cause you were the one that made me laugh.”
Bucky shrugs, not exactly admitting to being the reason but not denying it either, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stevie.”
He remembers that moment fondly, they were only a year into the Iraq war, both of them scared shitless but trying to get by none the less. Steve was across from him doing the same thing they were doing now- keeping watch- and Bucky couldn’t take the silence. He could read Steve’s every emotion since they’ve been friends since pretty much birth and decided to do something about the little dip between his eyebrows. He remembers nudging Steve’s leg with his boot and spewing off some stupid joke that made Steve laugh with his whole body and Bucky smile like an idiot. Of course they were separated after, but the laughter was worth it.
“What would help me sleep at night is a thermal blanket,” Steve mutters, leaning back against the rock they perched themselves on, sun glasses pulled over his eyes, staring off somewhere past the desert sand.
“Just you wait,” Bucky says, mirroring Steve and leaning himself against the rock, giving in to the sun and pulling his own sunglasses down- he thought they made him look like a douchebag but he’d rather that than have to squint every time he looked towards the sun- “we’re due home in a couple weeks for Christmas, Ma’s gonna have all the blankets you could hope for, and” he looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was walking past their rock that could possibly overhear them, “we get to share my room like old times. Just you, me, and a couple of blankets. Clothing optional.”
Bucky could see Steve’s blush through his sunburned skin and let a grin spread across his face. He moves himself back into to a more “platonic” position and watches the sand move in the occasional gust of wind.
They’ve been here for over two years already, moving up ranks, learning new things about themselves and the world around them. It was okay, for the most part. After they got used to the far-off sounds of explosions and gunfire, after they got used to bloodshed and death. After they got used to a lot of things, being in war became to being like second nature to them. It wasn’t anything more than a set of rules, listening to higher ranked comrades, and keeping an eye out for themselves and their fellow troops.
Most of the time there wasn’t a mission to go on. It was like they were now, him and Steve or someone else, keeping an eye on base; doing other things their commander asked of them. But when they did go on a mission, they had to get used to killing and hurting people that may or may not have been with the rogue militants.
He was more okay with it since they made him shoot from high up, but he knew Steve was still a little touchy about having to kill people. They didn’t enlist to kill people, and he knew that, they enlisted to help their country and keep families everywhere safe, but killing was just a side effect of war. And like everything else, like the sand and sweat and heat, they’d eventually get used to it.
Bucky sighs, propping a foot up on one of the rock’s edges, “How do you think the weather is over in Brooklyn?”
“Snowy,” Steve states, simple as ever.
“Unlike this literal hell hole.” He thinks if any weather could relate so distinctly to hell that it would be this particular desert. Hotter than a Brooklyn Summer during the day, and icy cold at night. Two totally different temperatures that his body still didn’t know how to deal with.
Steve shifts against the rock, hugging his rifle to his chest like a shield, “It could be worse,”
“How so?” Because really, how so.
“It could be raining at night, which would make us freeze, then stop in the morning and boil us in the humidity.”
Bucky shrugs a shoulder, “There is that.” he shifts again to get more comfortable when he hears the telltale sounds of boots shifting the sand around behind him. He turns his head to look over the rock at who was coming, and almost chokes on his spit when he throws himself off the rock, pulling Steve down with him.
They both push their sunglasses up their heads, saluting with practiced precision before dropping their hands to their sides, and standing tall.
“Lieutenant Barnes, Lieutenant Rogers,” Colonel Fury nods to them, offering them a salute, “at ease, soldiers.”
They both drop their stance, still standing up straight, addressing the Colonel by name and rank at the same time. He can tell Steve’s as stunned as he is to see the Colonel standing in front of them. Usually, Colonel Fury stays in his tent unless something dire’s happening. He never roams with the other lesser soldiers, and hardly ever comes to the front lines where he and Steve watch.
Fury leaves his face emotionless and instead turns to face Bucky, “You’re needed in my tent, Lieutenant Barnes, you’re excused from this shift.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Bucky says, nodding, swiftly turning away from the Colonel. He catches Steve’s eyes as he turns and feels dread seep in his bones at the worried look they hold. He tries to put them out of his mind as he goes but butterflies none the less fill his stomach, he knows something bad is on the horizons, something that warranted a visit from Colonel Fury, something that he’s soon to be involved in.
Bucky shakes his head and keeps walking, trying to tell himself that it’s all going to be okay, that he’ll see Steve in the mess hall after he’s done with the meeting, telling himself lie after lie with each step he takes to the Colonel’s tent because he knows, deep in his heart, that he won’t be seeing Steve for a while.
“Wait,” Bucky says, letting himself fall back onto one of the ammunition crates right behind him, “you want me to do what?” he shakes his head, then remembers both his training and manners, “- sir.”
The Colonel sighs and folds his hands in his lap, leaning further back into his seat, “There’s a militant force that’s too hidden for us to just ambush, you’re the best sniper we have, and there’s no better time to take out a threat than the present.” He explains again, like repeating his words will clear the confusion in Bucky’s head- which, for clarification, they’re not.
Bucky shakes his head, looking up at Fury, “But I’m just a Lieutenant, I’ve never gone on solo missions, sir.”
“But you have the training?” Fury asks, raising his eyebrow expectantly.
“Well, yes, sir.” Of course he has the training, they all do.
“Then you know how these things go. Besides, you won’t be completely alone.”
Bucky eyes Fury, unsure and looking for the lie he know’s is hidden beneath the Colonel’s sunglasses,“I won’t be? Sir.”
Bucky’s getting awfully tired of saying, sir.
“No,” Fury says, simple as ever, “you’re going to be on a comm at all times, we’re going to tell you exactly what to you. We’re not pushing you into the deep end without a little help.”
Bucky can feel dread filling his stomach, dread for the unknown he’s about to take part in. Dread for a going on a mission that seems to have more to it than ‘a few threatening militants’, dread for all the secrets he’s going to be holding when he comes back because only people of a certain clearance can know, dread for the fact that he never considered going on a mission without the rest of his platoon. But most of all, dread for Steve.
Steve who’s still on his shift, probably still sitting on that rock with his stupid sunglasses over his face. Steve who can’t know what he’s going to do but will love him anyway. Steve who he might not see again if this mission goes wrong.
But he doesn’t want to think about that. About the what if that comes with everyone’s life when they enlist. He doesn’t want to think about that and he’s not going to.
“When do I leave, sir?” Bucky asks, hoping he can maybe catch a glance of Steve’s face before he goes off to shoot people whose name’s he doesn’t even know because that’s above his ranking.
The Colonel looks at the watch on his wrist, “At 1930.”
Bucky tries to mask his disappointment with a nod- Steve’s shift doesn’t end until 2000 and it’s already close to 1830- and gets up from the crate, “Where should I go for now, sir?”
“Get your rucksack ready, then meet me back here by 1900, you’ll get you your ammunition and comm, and we’ll explain the mission in further detail.”
Bucky nods again, “Dismissed, sir?”
Fury nods, “Dismissed.”
Bucky walks out of the tent as fast as he can. Let out shaky breaths when the flap’s closed behind him. He looks to where he knows Steve still is, a mile or so from where he is now. He could run over there, tell Steve ‘goodbye’ hastily then run back to his tent and get his things ready to leave. He could get that all done and still have some time before 1930, but he doesn’t want to worry Steve. He knows if he runs over there now Steve will read the dread off him like a book and immediately worry. He knows Steve will know it had something to do with Fury and that Steve will probably stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, get reprimanded for questioning a higher up or get dishonorably discharged for showing more than platonic feelings for Bucky.
So, instead, he sends a longing look to that stupid rock- he prays to whatever’s listening in this hell hole that they keep Steve safe, to forget about his safety for the time being and keep an eye on Steve who will no doubt notice Bucky’s absence by dinner- and turns on his heel, walking briskly to his tent like the man on a mission he now is.
He walks and walk, calves burning with the amount of force he’s putting into not running back to see Steve for one last goodbye. He walks and prays and hopes because he can already feel how hard the road ahead of him is going to be, and ignores the lump in his throat and butterflies in his stomach.
He has to be strong. If not for himself and his country then for Steve and his family. He’s going to be strong and get this mission done. He’s going to do it because he’s going to come back and see Steve and maybe kiss him in the dark and in a few weeks they’re going home for Christmas- which, hell yes, it’s been awhile since he’s had a proper Barnes plus one Rogers family dinner. He’s going to do whatever Fury asks and he’s going to come out of it alive.
He is.
If he could only believe in his own words.
“Sergeant Dugan will take you to the rendezvous point,” Fury tells him, his finger dragging slowly across the map in front of them, “after this point,” his finger stops, “you’re on your own Barnes.”
Bucky looks over at Sergeant- call me Dum Dum- Dugan and eyes him suspiciously. He doesn’t completely trust the man in front of him, especially with that odd mustache of his resting on his upper lip like it was going to come to life any second now.
“Don’t worry, kid,” Sergeant Dugan says with a casual shrug of his shoulders, “you’re in capable hands. And if you need help- like really, life or death situation- need help you can always call in to us on your comm.”
“But that’s only in dire situations, Barnes,” Fury interjects, his finger now pointing at Bucky instead of the map.
Bucky nods, agreeing with them to just agree, not that he necessarily likes or agrees with what they’re telling him. He’d much rather someone else go on this mission. Someone that has more experience than his two years, someone that’s actually done this before. He knows he could speak up and tell Fury something, be he also knows that Fury could shoot the ‘first time for everything’ speech back at him, and he honestly just wants to get this over with.
He’s not even in some dugout in the sand yet, but he can already feel grains in his boots and up his nose.
He hasn’t even left yet and he wants to be back.